Raw Nerves: In This Family, Everyone Lived Their Own Separate Lives. Dad, Alexander, Had Not Just a Wife but a String of Lovers. Mum, Jenny, Turned a Blind Eye, but She Had Her Own Secret Romance with a Married Colleague. Their Two Sons Were Left to Fend for Themselves. Nobody Really Raised Them, So They Wasted Days Wandering Aimlessly. Jenny Claimed the School Was Responsible for Their Upbringing. On Sundays, the Family Would Gather in Silence Round the Kitchen Table, Wolf Down Lunch, and Disperse to Their Separate Interests. They Might Have Continued in Their Broken, Flawed but Comfortably Familiar Existence—Until Irreversible Tragedy Struck. When the Younger Son, Daniel, Was Twelve, Alexander First Took Him to the Garage as His Little Helper. While Daniel Curiously Inspected the Tools, Alexander Stepped Next Door to Chat with Fellow Car Enthusiasts. Suddenly, Black Smoke and Flames Billowed from Alexander’s Garage. (Later, It Would Emerge that Daniel Had Accidentally Knocked a Lit Blowtorch onto a Can of Petrol.) Nobody Understood What Had Happened. People Were Frozen, Panicking, as Fire Raged. Water Was Thrown Over Alexander, and He Bolted into the Inferno. In Moments, He Emerged, Carrying His Motionless Son, Daniel’s Body a Mass of Burns—Only His Face, Shielded by His Hands, Remained Unscathed; His Clothes Were Completely Burned Away. Someone Had Already Called the Fire Brigade and Ambulance. Daniel Was Rushed to Hospital—He Was Alive! He Was Taken Straight to Surgery. After Agonising Hours, the Surgeon Came Out to Daniel’s Parents and Said, “We’re Doing All We Can. Your Son Is in a Coma. His Chances Are One in a Million. Science Is Powerless. Only Extraordinary Willpower—and a Miracle—Can Save Him Now.” Desperate, Alexander and Jenny Raced to the Nearest Church—in a Torrential Downpour. Drenched and Sobbing, They Entered the Sanctuary for the First Time in Their Lives, Begging the Priest, Father George, for Help. “…How grave are your sins?” Father George asked. Alexander, sheepish, replied, “Not murderers, if that’s what you mean…” “But where is your love? Dead underfoot,” the priest reproached. “There’s more space between you than a fallen oak log. Pray to Saint Nicholas for your son’s health—pray fiercely! But remember, it’s God’s will…” At the icon, Alexander and Jenny knelt, weeping and praying passionately—swearing to cut all affairs, vowing to change their lives. The next morning, the phone rang. The doctor reported Daniel was out of his coma. Alexander and Jenny never left his bedside. Daniel whispered to his parents, “Mum, Dad, promise me you’ll stay together,” and, “When I have children, they’ll have your names…” His parents thought he was delirious—after all, he couldn’t even move his finger. But Daniel began to recover. The family’s energy and savings—and even their summer cottage—went into his treatment. The garage and car had burned to ashes, but the main thing was: Daniel was alive. The grandparents pitched in to help, and the family came together through the crisis. A year on, Daniel was in a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and look after himself. He befriended Mary, a girl his own age who’d also been burned in a fire—her face badly scarred after multiple operations, too shy to look in a mirror. Daniel was drawn to her kindness, wisdom, and vulnerability. The two became inseparably close, bonding over pain, recovery, and endless conversation. Time passed… Daniel and Mary celebrated a modest wedding. They had two beautiful children: daughter Alexandra, then three years later, son John. At last, the family could breathe easy. But the ordeal had left Alexander and Jenny drained. They decided to part ways, both craving peace and relief from each other. Jenny moved to stay with her sister in the suburbs, visiting Father George before leaving—he, now a confidant, urged her not to go for long; “A husband and wife are one.” Alexander remained alone in the empty flat, sons with families of their own. Visiting grandchildren was done separately, timings carefully coordinated to avoid crossing paths. And so, after all they’d suffered, every member of the family finally found their own, peculiar peace…

CUT TO THE QUICK…

In this family, everyone lived their own separate lives.

Jack, the father, in addition to his wife, had a lover, sometimes more than one and never the same. His wife Helen suspected her husbands infidelities, yet she herself was no picture of virtue either. She enjoyed spending her free time away from home with a married colleague from work. Their two sons were left largely to their own devices.

Nobody really bothered to raise them. As a result, the boys were often out and about, loafing around with nothing much to do. Their mother insisted the school was entirely responsible for the pupils upbringing.

The family would gather at the kitchen table on Sundays, but only to quickly eat lunch in silence and then disperse, each to their own interests.

Thats how the household would have bumbled along, in its broken but strangely sweet little world, had something irreparable not happened one day.

When the younger son, David, was twelve, Jack took him to the garage for the first time to help out. While David was inspecting the various tools, Jack popped next door to chat with some mates who were tinkering with their cars.

Suddenly, clouds of black smoke began billowing from Jacks garage, followed quickly by tongues of flame.

No one understood what had happened. (Later, it turned out that David had accidentally knocked over a lit blowtorch onto a petrol can.) People froze, stunned. The fire raged. Someone dumped a bucket of water over Jack and he plunged into the burning garage. Everyone held their breath. After only a few seconds, Jack staggered out of the flames, clutching his unconscious son in his arms. David was badly burned. Only his face was sparedapparently hed covered it with his hands. All his clothes had burned away.

The fire brigade and ambulance had already been called. David was rushed to hospital. He was alive!

He was immediately taken into surgery. After several hours of agonising waiting, the doctor emerged and said dryly:

Were doing everything possible and impossible. Your son is in a coma. His chances are one in a million. Medicine cant do much more in this situation. If David shows an incredible will to live, there may be a miracle. Be strong.

Jack and Helen, desperate, dashed off to the local church. A heavy rain began to pour. The frantic parents noticed nobody and nothing around them. Their only thought was saving their boy.

Soaked to the skin, Jack and Helen entered a church for the first time in their lives. It was quiet and almost empty. They nervously approached the vicar.

Reverend, our son is dying! What should we do? Helen managed to choke out through tears.

My children, Im Father Matthew. Hmm. Isnt it always in times of trouble that folk turn to God? How great are your sins? the vicar asked without delay.

Not really, I dont think. We havent killed anyone, Jack replied, dropping his eyes under the vicar’s piercing stare.

But youve killed your love, havent you? It lies cold and dead beneath your feet. There should be nothing between a husband and wife, but you two could fit a whole tree trunk between you and not touch either side! Oh, people

Pray, my children, to St Nicholas the Wonderworker for your sons healing! Pray with all your hearts! But remember, all is in Gods hands! Dont rage at Him! Sometimes, God sends a warning to guide the foolish. Otherwise, youd never learn! Youll ruin your soul and not even notice. Change your ways! Love is what saves everything!

Jack and Helen, drenched and tear-streaked, stood before wise Father Matthew like two sorry ducklings, listening to the harsh truth about themselves. It was enough to draw pity from anyone.

Father Matthew pointed to the icon of St Nicholas.

Jack and Helen knelt before the icon. They prayed, wept, made promises…

All other entanglements and affairs were cast aside. They were forgotten and erased from memory. Life was sifted over, bit by bit.

In the morning, the doctor rang to say David had come out of his coma.

Jack and Helen were sitting by their sons bedside.

David opened his eyes and tried to smile when he saw his parents, but the smile barely worked. His face bore the unmistakable mask of agony no child should know.

Mum, Dad, pleasedont split up, the boy whispered softly.

Darling, whatever gives you that idea? Were together, Helen protested, gently taking his limp, hot hand. David winced and yelped in pain. Helen quickly pulled back.

I saw it, Mum. And my children will have your names too, David kept talking.

Jack and Helen exchanged glances, thinking their son was delirious. Children? You cant even move a finger, love! Youre bed-bound, so weak… The main thing is for you to recover, anything else is a miracle.

Still, from that day David started to improve. Every bit of effort and every penny was poured into his treatment. Jack and Helen sold their little cottage.

Sadly, the garage and car, which were destroyed in the blaze, might also have brought in some money for Davids recovery. But most importanthed survived! All his grandparents helped however they could.

The family drew together in their crisis.

Even the longest day comes to an end.

A year passed.

David was now in a rehabilitation centre.

He could walk again and look after himself well enough.

At the centre, David made friends with a girl his age, Alice. Like David, shed been hurt in a fire. Alices face had been burned.

After several operations, the girl grew shy of herself and her scars. She never looked in a mirror. She was frightened.

David felt a deep compassion for Alice. There was something luminous about her. She radiated a wisdom and vulnerability far beyond her years. He wanted to protect her always.

Whenever they werent having treatments, the pair were together. They had so much in common. Both of them had endured unspeakable pain, despair, taking handfuls of bitter pills, learning to face down fear, to accept jabs and the endless white coats… They shared favourite topics, and never ran out of things to say.

Time ticked by.

David and Alice had a modest wedding.

They had two beautiful childrena daughter, Charlotte, and, three years later, a son called Benjamin.

When the newly-formed family was finally able to breathe easily again, Jack and Helen made a decision. They would separate. Everything that had happened to David had worn them out so much that they simply couldnt live together any longer. The marriage was drained of life. Jack and Helen both wanted release from each other and a bit of peace.

Helen went to stay with her sister in the countryside. Before she left, she popped into the church for Father Matthews blessing. In recent years, Helen visited him often, always thanking him for saving her son. To this he always replied:

Thank God, Helen! Thank God!

Father Matthew didnt approve of Helen leaving.

But if you must, go ahead. Rest for a while. Loneliness is sometimes good for the soul. But come back! Husband and wife are one flesh! he counselled gently.

Jack was left alone in an empty flat. The grown sons lived with their own families.

The former spouses visited the grandchildren in turns, always careful not to run into each other.

And so, now, everyone had found their own kind of peace.